Breakfast
by mater-in-filium
Summary: Francis and Arthur have been getting drunk together for years. They always regret it in the morning - well, not really. Lemon warning. FrUK.


Arthur awoke in a dim room; the room smelled of sweat and alcohol. He looked at the sleeping male next to him and froze a moment before relaxing. Of course. Last night, he and Francis had both gotten drunk off their ass and had sex. Again. He sighed, running a hand through his short blonde hair. He always had sexual frustration toward the Frenchman, but this? This was nigh unacceptable. He couldn't believe he had practically thrown himself at Francis. Again. He buried his face in his hands, and he stayed like that for a while. Luckily, he had no hangover. He didn't know whether to thank or blame the sex. He had certainly sobered up sometime during that encounter.

Francis began stirring. The Englishman wondered if he would remember the events of the previous night. Francis never seemed to mention it, anyway. Arthur sighed and allowed his hands to rest on his lap. His lower half was covered by the bedsheet he and Francis had draped over themselves after sex. Dare he admit they did no less than cuddle? He looked back at Francis. Arthur's action of sitting up had pulled the sheet that had covered the Frenchman's chest down. Arthur swallowed nervously as the sheet only covered Francis's lap.

For a moment, he stared at him. Though the Frenchman was a surrender monkey, his chest was toned perfectly from his days with Napoleon, though that was many years ago. Arthur gritted his teeth as he tried and failed to prevent his eyes from catching the happy trail that disappeared under the sheet. Sullenly, he slipped out of the bed and searched for the clothes the two of them had thrown haphazardly in their drunken lust. He acquired his clothes, but he decided to also collect Francis's. He placed his in a neat pile before dressing himself.

"Use me for sex, then leave?" The unmistakable voice of the Frenchman asked just as Arthur pulled up his pants. Arthur, for a moment, was frazzled. Quickly, he collected himself. Though he was shirtless, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Francis.

"You and I both know last night was a mistake caused by alcohol," Arthur said. Francis sighed.

"Yes, we were drunk. And? Drunken words mean something to the sober man," Francis reminded.

"I am sure the both of us were just taking out our frustration. After all, we despise each other," Arthur replied smoothly. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Some frustration you had there, Angleterre," he purred. Arthur froze. There it was. The seduction. Francis didn't even mean to do it, but sometimes his actions - his very being - were captivating. He quickly calmed himself.

"To you as well," he sneered. Francis rolled his eyes.

"Very well. We shall leave this branded as 'drunken mistake.' I don't really mind, though," Francis smiled. Arthur scowled to prevent the hurt from flashing across his face. His heart constricted. Doesn't really mind, huh? Arthur remembered all of the times Francis had come to him, talking about his latest conquest. Why would he mind? Arthur realized bitterly. Of course he wouldn't. Francis has had plenty of people in his bed. Arthur was no different.

"I'm leaving," Arthur said bluntly, resuming dressing himself.

"Aw, Angleterre, not even willing to stay for breakfast?" Francis asked coyly. Arthur looked at him flatly. The offer of food was tempting, but-

When he thought of having breakfast with the Frenchman, he knew Francis would cook. Arthur knew how much Francis loved to bake as well. He'd probably make some honeyed treat. Considering the man always cooked shirtless for some odd reason, the thought of honey dripping down his hand and him licking it was unbearable for Arthur. He knew what the man would say to Arthur's discomfort, as well. "Oh? Arthur? Is something… Bothering you?"

Francis was no fool. He knew how to seduce people. He knew when he was doing it. But Arthur was a special case. He knew he got to the Englishman, but for some reason, Arthur never acted on his desires except for when he was hammered drunk. Finding this interesting, Francis had tried to seduce Arthur (much to his chagrin), trying to get him to act without Francis initiating or him being drunk. It never really worked. What seemed to be an exaggerated situation in Arthur's mind was something Francis was perfectly capable of and willing to do.

Francis had even stopped talking about the people he had seduced into bed. He quickly realized that only made Arthur angry. Angry was not what he wanted. He blinked as Arthur finished dressing. He was doing his tie easily. Francis bit his lip lightly. He wanted to pull the shorter man back into bed by his tie, removing all of his clothes again. Despite Arthur's belief, he was completely sober last night. It was just Arthur who had an extremely weak tolerance. And despite having had so many other people, he always wanted Arthur.

Francis tried to count how many times this situation happened. How many times Arthur pushed out of Francis's house in the morning, sore from a drunken endeavor. Francis didn't know what to consider the relationship between them. This time, instead of walking Arthur to the door, he sat in bed, watching with his sad blue eyes as Arthur left. The shorter man looked back once before swiftly making his exit. Francis sighed.

He would be having breakfast alone again.

Weeks passed for the two, never encountering one another. That amount of time seemed like nothing, but at the same time forever. They both had to fulfill their duties as countries, after all. They couldn't just have sex every night. Francis was twitchy. After the last time Arthur left, he hadn't felt any sexual feelings towards anyone except the Arthur in his memory. It was frustrating. Before, he could just take these feelings to some random woman (or man, it didn't matter to him) and unwind. Now, he needed Arthur.

The two never kept in contact except when they saw each other in person. When the third month had passed without their 'drunken mistake' repeating, Arthur had come across Francis in a cafe. The Englishman often came by here, but he had forgotten this place was a favorite of Francis's as well. Sulking, he allowed Francis to wave him over to his table.

He sat across from the blue eyed man, scowling as Francis smiled gently at him.

"Angleterre, I feel we should talk," Francis said eventually, dropping the smile. Arthur blinked, confused.

"What about?" He asked, realizing this seemed serious.

"About our sexual escapades that occur every time we - non, you - get drunk," Francis spoke, maintaining perfect eye contact with Arthur. The Englishman froze.

"There's nothing _to_ talk about. We were both drunk-"

"Non, Angleterre. _You_ may have been drunk, but I was not. I am sure you know what this implies, oui?" Arthur didn't speak. "It means that I truly have interest in pursuing you."

"Pursuing," Arthur sneered. "Laughable." He did his best to prevent Francis from seeing the pain blossoming in him. Pursuing? More like play with for a little bit before being dropped. Hell, the drunken sex every now and then was enough. This whole conversation, he just didn't want. He was fine with how things were. No change needed. But if Francis was telling the truth, perhaps he was being selfish.

Francis remained unfazed by Arthur's words. "And I do not mean sexual pursuit alone, non."

Arthur's eyes widened. The Frenchman wanted… His heart? Why would he?

"I understand if you find this… Surprising, so to speak. I myself have wondered why I am drawn to you so," Francis continued. "But I must admit," he dropped his voice down to a whisper. Underneath the table, one of Francis's legs hooked on Arthur's leg and pulled it forward. "No one has ever been able to draw out these kinds of feelings in me, and for so long, too." Arthur bit his cheek to prevent himself from letting out a whine. Francis was now doing it consciously, the wanker! And this time, it wasn't the little flirts Arthur had built a tolerance to. It was fully focused on Arthur, and the Englishman had no escape.

"So long..?" Arthur finally realized. He blinked again, shock setting in.

Francis smiled sadly. "Ever since I realized I was interested, it just got worse. I kept sinking. Years, centuries. And every night I would repeat to myself, non Francis. Do not taint him. He is an angel on earth." He stopped and noted the look on Arthur's face. Francis let his hands rest closer to the center of the table. Arthur watched this, fascinated for a moment as Francis's long fingers curled around themselves. He let his green eyes come back up to the Frenchman's intense gaze.

"And then when I found out you were weak with drink, I took advantage. For this, I apologize," Francis admitted. Arthur blinked.

"So all this time-" he stuttered. Francis nodded. Arthur bit his lip, going over this information.

"What I will not apologize for is this," Arthur looked up at Francis's sad smile. "Je t'aime, Angleterre."

Arthur choked. He blinked rapidly. He couldn't get this information in his head. How? Why? When exactly? Francis's smile slowly faded before he stood up.

"Tea is on me, should you want some. I will leave now," Francis said as he deposited money onto the table.

Arthur couldn't stop him or his beating heart as the door rang. Francis didn't look back. Arthur watched him as the man breathed out. It was winter. His breath was visible. The man burrowed into his white scarf.

Arthur slowly remembered that scarf. Back when he was learning textiles from Francis. That was the first successful scarf he had ever made. He let Francis keep it. Despite the obvious repairs, he knew Francis had kept it for all of those centuries. Eventually, Francis had gone too far away for Arthur to chase. Arthur slouched in his seat and got his usual tea. He decided to let Francis's money pay for it.

Another month came and went.

When they next saw each other, Arthur noticed Francis's eyes light up for a brief moment before catching himself. Francis turned the other way and walked.

But Arthur wouldn't let him leave this time.

He walked quickly. Soon, he was impatient. He was running. Then, sprinting. He nearly barreled into Francis, but caught himself. Arthur grabbed his sleeve and glared at him. Francis's eyes widened. He didn't expect to be chased.

"You think you can just walk away from me without hearing my response, you wanker?!" He nearly shouted. Francis blinked.

"Oui, actually," he laughed lightly. "I didn't expect to be chased."

"You should have," Arthur hissed. "Because I have a response to you."

He paused and took a deep breath. His hands were suddenly clammy, despite the frigid air.

"I want to have breakfast with you," he said. Francis blinked. Realization dawned on him and his face split into a genuine, happy smile.

"I'm free any morning, Angleterre," he offered. Arthur grinned.

"How about tomorrow morning? If I stay over tonight, I won't have to rush there," Arthur replied. Francis smiled and shamelessly grabbed Arthur's hand. They strolled to Francis's house. Arthur was a little nervous. After this, would Francis give up? Was this all a giant conquest? Luckily, it wasn't. Francis was serious for once.

Arthur didn't hesitate the moment Francis had closed the door behind them. He stood on his toes, capturing Francis's lips quickly. The Frenchman responded quickly, wrapping his arms around Arthur. His fingers were splayed across Arthur's waist, bunching up his coat. Francis was angry with it, but gently began to remove it. He shrugged Arthur out of it as the Englishman did the same for Francis.

"Though I do not mind the doorway, perhaps we should at least take off our shoes?" Francis suggested with a smirk. Arthur glared a moment as he practically threw his shoes off. Francis gracefully slid out of his. Arthur noted Francis take his socks off and stuff his shoes with them, and he did the same.

"I like your bedroom," Arthur admitted. Francis smiled and led Arthur by his hand down the hallway.

When they reached Francis's bedroom, Arthur's lips were locked on Francis's again. Francis was pushed against the wall, but he didn't mind. One had slipped down to cup Arthur's ass while the other slid up his sweater. His fingers massaged his back and Arthur groaned, moving his hands from Francis's shoulders to his hair. He tugged and Francis whined. He held Arthur by his ass as Francis's hips bucked forward. Arthur pressed himself closer, one leg wrapping around the Frenchman's leg. Francis sighed contently into their kiss, relishing Arthur without the aftertaste of alcohol.

Arthur pulled away a moment, his breath hitching at the wild mess he had created from Francis's hair. Francis's eyes were lidded. "I'm okay getting off with clothes on, but…" Arthur trailed off. Francis grinned, and Arthur could've shivered. It was almost predatorial.

"If you want me to stop, just say so," Francis whispered in Arthur's ear. Arthur struggled to breathe a moment, drowning in the intensity behind every word. Francis meant this. He meant this more than anything. And when Arthur understood at that moment, he knew keeping clothes on was impossible.

He tugged at Francis's shirt, wanting it off. Francis allowed Arthur to unbutton it completely, before the taller man rested his hands on the sides of Arthur's face. He tilted Arthur's face up and kissed Arthur, but this kiss was sweet and slow. The ones they had shared before were hungry and hard. Arthur drowned in this kiss, his hands resting on Francis's bare chest. Arthur shivered a little bit and Francis smirked. Arthur looked up at his dark, sexual eyes. Even if he had wanted to back out earlier (which he never would have), those eyes were too much. He felt his cock harden. Arthur whined, to which Francis chuckled. He pushed Arthur, and Arthur realized that as he had unbuttoned Francis's shirt, the man had walked them over to the bed.

Arthur fell softly, and Francis was on him fast. The man had gone for his neck, lightly nibbling on it. Arthur moaned when Francis reached his collarbone. Francis let his nose rest a moment on Arthur's neck.

"Je t'aime," he whispered. The sound reverberated up the crook of his neck into Arthur's ear and he shivered. He thought he was going to melt. Francis then slid his hands up Arthur's sweater, eventually pulling the fabric off of his Arthur's body. Arthur was a small man, yes, but he was still a man. He wasn't as short as everyone pretended he was.

Francis knew this better than anyone. His hands were a little bigger than the size of Arthur's shoulder blade, but that was relatively normal. Arthur pulled Francis to his lips and seized them. Francis smirked as Arthur's face slightly reddened. Francis began his descent. He slowly licked his way down Arthur's neck again, proceeding to Arthur's nipples. One hand kept himself aloft, the other was slowly rubbing and teasing a pink bud. This mouth descended on the other, mercilessly massaging it with his tongue. Arthur arched his back, letting out a mewl. Francis sat up a moment and looked down at Arthur. Arthur's eyes were on him. His breaths were a bit erratic. Francis licked his lips and Arthur couldn't help but buck his hips up, impatient. Francis rolled his eyes.

"Mon cherie, how impatient you are," Francis purred. Arthur hissed at him and tried to sit up before France placed a decisive hand on Arthur's shoulder, keeping him down.

Francis curled back down like a cat, scooching his long legs back a bit as well. He bit lightly at the skin before Arthur's trousers in the way. He held back a growl in the back of his throat and unbuttoned the pants. Arthur's hands gripped Francis's sheets in anticipation. He pulled the pants down to his ankles before sitting properly and gently pulling the pants off of his feet.

"I don't like your pants," Arthur groaned, tugging on the waistband to Francis's pants. Francis chuckled a little before allowing the smaller man to unbutton his pants and tug them down. Arthur bit back a moan as he noticed Francis's boxers were strained. When he met his blue eyes, he got lost in them again. He could only reciprocate as Francis took his lips again with ferocity. When Francis pulled away, he caught Arthur's lower lip gently between his teeth. His tongue lightly traced it before he released the dazed Englishman.

"F-fuck, F-Francis, just f-fucking-"

Francis cut him off by slipping his hand into Arthur's briefs. Arthur cut himself off with a long, drawn out moan. Francis placed a light kiss to Arthur's neck before tugging down Arthur's remaining clothing by letting his hands trail from Arthur's spine down his ass and the back of his legs. He let himself have a little lick of Arthur's cock. The man twitched and bucked his hips up, pleading for more. Francis let out a heavy breath, feeling the heat coiling in his abdomen.

He had waited for this for so long. He didn't think he could last long enough to do all that he wanted.

Arthur kept releasing his steady stream of begs. Francis couldn't help but oblige him; his dexterous tongue flicked out of his mouth and licked Arthur's shaft from the base to the tip. Arthur's toes curled, and he wanted more.

Francis pulled away suddenly and Arthur whined before he saw the Frenchman finally nearly ripped off his own boxers. Francis nearly came right there when Arthur spread his legs. His hair was messier than normal; his eyes were half-lidded with lust. His cock was leaking precum, and his hands were fisted into Francis's sheets.

Francis took a shaky breath. Arthur was watching him with _those eyes._ Arthur noted with a smirk that Francis was a little shocked. Admittedly, Arthur was having difficulty hanging on. They were in the same boat.

Without preamble, Francis reached a decision. He lifted Arthur up slightly and pulled him in to sit in his lap. Arthur buried his face in the crook of Francis's neck before Francis gently pulled him back.

"Mon cherie, I want to see your face," Francis pleaded. Arthur nodded, not trusting his voice. Francis did something Arthur didn't expect: he placed their cocks together and ground on Arthur. The smaller man moaned loudly and the friction, and Francis couldn't help but let out a groan as well. He briefly wondered how long it had been since someone had made him this passionate.

Arthur was the first to shout Francis's name. Francis drew himself out of the feeling of skin to watch Arthur's face. Francis was a goner with that choice. Arthur's eyes had screwed shut and his mouth was open in a silent moan. The white liquid splattered across them both as Francis tilted his head back.

"Angleterre," he had moaned. He felt the coils of heat unwind quickly and he released. He let out a sigh of post-orgasmic bliss before seeing Arthur watching him almost nervously. Suddenly, Francis realized he hadn't had enough. No, not even nearly enough. He pushed Arthur down, hovering above him.

Arthur realized he wasn't done in the slightest. The prospect excited him. Then, Francis began licking up the still wet semen from Arthur's stomach. Arthur released a breath of relaxation. Unlike earlier, Francis was slow and thorough. When he was done, he licked his lips as his eyes made contact with Arthur's. The intended effect was achieved when Arthur felt himself harden just a little. Francis smirked and Arthur sneered at him before they kissed again. The kiss was needy, all teeth and tongue, reviving them both into the lust-filled state.

Francis pulled away and bit his lip in thought. He slowly reached over Arthur to open his nightstand. Arthur didn't even have to look to see what he was getting. His eyes were on Francis's fingers, which were splayed lightly on his shoulder. Arthur briefly noted that during this entire encounter, not once did Francis rest all of his weight on Arthur.

Arthur wondered if Francis was being extremely restrained; it didn't seem like the Frenchman to not lose himself in passion. Francis just wanted to make this special, sap that he was. Arthur decided to play a little game.

The bottle that Francis had reached for was, as Arthur thought, a bottle of lube. Before Francis could open it, Arthur slid away from Francis. The Frenchman stared at him in silent question, his hands frozen. Arthur smirked at him before taking the bottle from Francis's hands slowly. The Frenchman blinked at him as Arthur opened the cap.

"Well, I admit I would like a hint here, mon cherie," Francis said. Arthur kept smirking at him, but didn't answer. Francis watched with rapt attention as Arthur coated his fingers. He suppressed the urge to pounce on him right then and there when Arthur gently lowered himself on his own fingers. Francis hissed when Arthur reached for his own cock; the Frenchman wouldn't allow that. He stopped Arthur's hand and roughly pulled Arthur forward for a heated kiss.

It wasn't the same as the other kisses, Arthur realized, in between the biting and sucking. His goal was achieved. He didn't want Francis to hold back. After all, the man had been waiting longer than him.

Arthur's hand momentarily stopped and Francis growled. "If you stop with that now, that's the most you're getting in terms of stretching."

It was safe to say Arthur's fingers resumed at a much faster pace. Francis was greedy now, one hand always clenching Arthur's inner thigh while the other locked on to teasing his nipple. Francis eventually left Arthur's lips and bit and sucked at his neck. Arthur mewled and arched his back before his fingers left his hole. Francis then flipped Arthur on his stomach - much to his protests - and his tongue was swirling in Arthur's hole. Arthur mewled, the bedsheets not good enough a grip anymore. He was a writhing and sobbing mess by the time Francis pulled away with a smug smirk.

"F-fuck F-Fran-"

Arthur wasn't allowed to finish any phrases. Francis seemed to relish in the fact he could interrupt him without speaking. The Frenchman had grown eerily silent.

Without any time for recovery, Francis took hold the lube and coated his length quickly and thrust inside with one swift motion. Arthur cried out, and Francis grabbed his hair and tugged his head upwards. Francis didn't hold back as he mercilessly thrust into Arthur's backside, but it only became completely serious when Arthur nearly screamed when Francis hit his prostate. Francis slowed; Arthur's eyes were mostly shut, tears of pleasure leaking from them. His face was red, and precum leaked from his cock. Francis felt a sense of self-satisfaction. He sullied the angel.

Tired of merely staring at Arthur's back, he quickly changed Arthur's position to lay on his back. Francis used only one finger to greedily suck on his lips. They were already swollen from his previous kisses. Arthur's voice was hoarse by now, but he couldn't hold back the stream of pleads and curses for Francis to just _fuck him already._

Francis finally obliged, quickly finding Arthur's prostate again and attacking it. If what Arthur was doing earlier didn't count as sobbing, he was now. His entire being shook with pleasure as the Frenchman lifted Arthur's legs onto his shoulders while continuing to fuck him senseless.

Arthur felt it, the hot relief of the pleasure just building up and releasing on Francis's abdomen as Francis rode him through his orgasm. Francis bit his lip and decided to just let go as well. He released a sigh as he groaned, the first sound he had let himself make after Arthur had played his 'game.'

Francis made sure to pull out before lying down, sweaty and exhausted. "I do hope you will not skip out on breakfast, mon cherie," he whispered in Arthur's ear. Arthur shivered.

"I might as well, considering how upset it will make you," he smirked. Francis pouted. "Take a hint, fool. I already said I would stay."

The two fell asleep in each other's arms in bliss. When Francis awoke first, he noticed from the mirror across from the room that his hair was incredibly wild. When he looked at Arthur, his lover looked thoroughly debauched. Francis grinned before placing a light kiss on Arthur's temple and snuggling back up to him. Arthur eventually stirred and his eyes opened in the familiar room. He saw Francis's happy eyes watching him. He quickly grew embarrassed.

"Do you have nothing else to do, you stalker?!" He nearly shrieked. Francis chuckled in good nature.

"Bonjour, mon cherie. How was your night?" Francis asked. Arthur glared.

"Well, for one, I have an intense pain in my ass. I wonder how that happened?" Francis smirked at him. "And two, I have an intense desire for breakfast."

Francis's eyes lit up. "So the shower waits?" Arthur nodded and Francis sighed.

"But my beautiful golden hair," he pouted. Arthur laughed in good nature.

"I caused it, so I like it," Arthur said, touching noses with Francis. Francis could feel his heart melt at the gesture. "In other news, I have little faith in my ability to walk. I seem to have melted into the bed."

Francis laughed this time. Arthur could feel the vibrations in his chest through his palm. "I'll carry you to the table, mon cherie."

"I do hope your definition of breakfast is not having sex on a table," Arthur suddenly said. Francis choked on air trying not to laugh.

"Non, non. I'll make crepes," Francis said as Arthur groaned.

"Please not with honey," he pleaded. Francis raised his eyebrows.

"Why? Have a… Aversion to honey?" He asked while smirking. Arthur sneered at him while Francis chuckled in good nature. He slipped out of the bed and put his undergarments on, followed by his pants. Arthur was scowling at him. "If you would like your clothes, you may simply ask for them."

Arthur rolled his eyes and held his hand out. Francis smiled at Arthur's obstinate nature before handing him his undergarments. He paused before giving Arthur his own shirt. Arthur gripped the cloth nervously, knowing it wouldn't fit him. Francis leaned over the bed and lightly kissed Arthur's ear.

"Wear that," he said simply. Arthur nodded, in a daze. He slipped the button down on and only did some of the buttons. Francis didn't really mind.

After all, he wouldn't be having breakfast alone this time.

**Author's Note: Well. Hope you enjoyed. Don't squint too hard at some scenes. They're slightly questionable. Hope you enjoyed.**

**~Arts**


End file.
